


Blackstar

by hikarufly



Series: After Twelve Stories [14]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 18:25:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13370535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikarufly/pseuds/hikarufly
Summary: One last goodbye, just before the end of "Twice Upon a Time".English is not my first language. Enjoy!





	Blackstar

A warm light outlined his profile. From the stage he was on, the audience was hidden in the black of darkness. Sat on a high stool, the Doctor had taken up a guitar, and secured it on his shoulder. It was not an electric guitar, but an acoustic one: he plugged it to the sound system, so that all could hear. Whomever the “all” was, since he could see nobody. For what he knew, the place could have been empty. Taking the guitar pick between his fingers, he passed his hand through his hair, more as a comforting gesture than a way to behave his comb. He checked the strings and tried a few notes, just to be sure. He cleared his voice in a small cough, and with one of his legs bended to keep the guitar steady, he started to play, and to sing.

 

_I know something's very wrong_

_The pulse returns the prodigal sons_

_The blackout hearts, the flowered news_

_With skull designs upon my shoes_

 

It was time: time to regenerate, to leave this self behind. He knew now, and he was ready. He just needed a small moment, a few minutes... in eternity. What's more eternally brief than a song?

 

_I can't give everything_

_I can't give everything_

_Away_

_I can't give everything_

_Away_

 

We are all made of memories, and we all become memories. And when the memories are forgotten, there still are songs. When the wind is fair and the night is perfect, just like that night, in that God forsaken place, in that empty pub, in that perfect moment. He felt so dead and yet so alive: the energy of his planet, of time and space were flowing inside him. Just like good old David Bowie, when he left Earth too, scattered among the stars he so much needed to get back to. He continued to sing his song.

 

_Seeing more and feeling less_

_Saying no but meaning yes_

_This is all I ever meant_

_That's the message that I sent_

 

_I can't give everything_

_I can't give everything_

_Away_

 

_I can't give everything_

_Away_

 

The voice and sound died out and only one pair of hands clapped. The dim light of the pub made the few customers emerge from nothingness: an old gentleman looking at his pint, silently crying, a couple that was kissing in a corner, a man writing down with pen on paper, and a girl. A young, dark brown haired girl, with big dark eyes and a sweet round face. A light blue jumper with embroidery at the bottom seam, jeans and boots.

The Doctor got down from the stage, after unplugging the guitar and leaving it on his support. He reached the small round table where the girl was sitting.

«Thanks.» he murmured.

«For what?» Clara asked, smiling. He remembered that smile.

«Clapping.» he explained. Her smile broadened, lighting up her face. Her eyes were watery.

«You deserved it.» she simply remarked, her voice managing not to break down.

«Can I offer you a drink or something?» he asked, hiding his hand in his sleeves for a moment. In the dark, the glare was almost blinding. She shook her head slightly, a tear slipping away from the corner of her eye.

«Let me offer you something. You offered me so much.» she explained, standing up and taking his hand in hers. He smiled too, and looked at their fingers, joined and now intertwined.

They sat at the counter, both at the same side this time. The bartender asked for their order, and she said something unimportant they both remembered so clearly afterwords.

«So... is it time, then?» she asked, fiddling with her drink.

«It is.» he replied. «I... I never imagined it, before. I didn't want to think about it, I suppose. But everything ends, and everything begins again. I am... so tired.»

She let another tear go.

«You became yourself with me. I am sorry for that day, I am still.» she confessed. He smiled, painfully.

«You shouldn't be. Memories can't be sorry, can they?» he asked then. Bill, their bartender, was polishing some glasses.

«I hoped to see you again. And to remember you again.» the Doctor said, forgetting about the drink or the few people in the bar, turning to her.

«We already said goodbye.» Clara reminded him.

«Now I know.» he replied, taking both her hands in his, as they both stood up.

Bill had finished her job and had moved to the door. It was indeed time to go.

«I wished we had time for another song.» he murmured, looking at her fingers again. She made him raise his glance.

«We had our time, Doctor. And she had adventures, and... let's be grateful for the time we had. We are both ready to face the unknown.»

He knew she was right, but there was still something he wanted to take the chance on.

«I knew someone, once. I wanted to say something important to her, but I couldn't. Time slipped away.» he explained. «Stupid preambles, discussions and explanations...»

Clara raised an eyebrow, and got the smile of the Timelord, the one she loved the most: when he realised his foolishness.

«I love you, Clara Oswald.» he murmured. She put on a very satisfied look.

«I know.» she replied, but another tear slipped away. «I love you too, Doctor.»

She stood on tiptoes, and kissed the corner of his lips. He closed his eyes, savouring that moment for a small eternity. When he opened his eyes, she was gone.

«Time to go, Doctor.» said Bill, or rather the ghost of her memories.

« _The blackout hearts, the flowered news_ » he sang again.

And in a few minutes more, he was gone.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I went to a Bowie tribute night in a small pub near my hometown in Italy. A brilliant musician sang several Bowie songs in acoustic version: among them, there was "I can't give everything away". It was so delicate and melancholic that I thought of writing this.  
> I have not been writing in English for a while but I hope this is better than I believe it is.   
> I already miss 12 <3


End file.
